‘X-ING A PARAGRAB.’

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BY EDGAR A. POE.

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As it is well known that the ‘wise men’ came ‘from the East,’ and as Mr. Touch-and-go
Bullet-head came from the East, it follows that Mr. Bullet-head was a wise man; and if collateral proof of the matter be needed, here we
have it — Mr. B. was an editor. Irascibility was his sole foible; for in fact the obstinacy of which men accused him was anything
but his foible, since he justly considered it his forte. It was his strong point — his virtue; and it would have
required all the logic of a Brownson to convince him that it was ‘anything else.’

I have shown that Touch-and-go Bullet-head was a wise man; and the only occasion on which he did not prove infallible,
was when, abandoning that legitimate home for all wise men, the East, he migrated to the city of Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, or some
place of a similar title, out West.

I must do him the justice to say, however, that when he made up his mind finally to settle in that town, it was under
the impression that no newspaper, and consequently no editor, existed in that particular section of the country. In establishing
‘The Tea-Pot,’ he expected to have the field all to himself. I feel confident he never would have dreamed of taking up his
residence in Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, had he been aware that, in Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, there lived a gentleman named John
Smith (if I rightly remember), who, for many years, had there quietly grown fat in editing and publishing the
‘Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis Gazette.’ It was solely, therefore, on account of having been misinformed, that Mr.
Bullet-head found himself in Alex —— suppose we call it Nopolis, ‘for short’ — but, as he did find
himself there, he determined to keep up his character for obst — for firmness, and remain. So remain he did; and he did more; he
unpacked his press, type, etc., etc., rented an office exactly opposite [[to]] that of the ‘Gazette,’ and, on the third
morning after his arrival, issued the first number of ‘The Alexan’ — that is to say, of ‘The Nopolis
Tea-Pot:’ — as nearly as I can recollect, this was the name of the new paper.

The leading article, I must admit, was brilliant — not to say severe. It was especially bitter about things in
general — and as for the editor of ‘The Gazette,’ he was torn all to pieces in particular. Some of Bullet-head’s
remarks were really so fiery that I have always, since that time, been forced to look upon John Smith, who is still alive, in the light
of a salamander. I cannot pretend to give all the [[’]]Tea-pot’s[[’]] paragraphs verbatim, but one of
them run [[runs]] thus:

‘Oh, yes! — Oh, we perceive! Oh, no doubt! The editor over the way is a genius — Oh, my! Oh,
goodness, gracious! — what is this world coming to? Oh, tempora! Oh, Moses!’

A philippic at once so caustic and so classical, alighted like a bombshell among the hitherto peaceful citizens of
Nopolis. Groups of excited individuals gathered at the corners of the streets. Every one awaited, with heartfelt anxiety, the reply of
the dignified Smith. Next morning it appeared, as follows:

‘We quote from “The Tea-Pot” of yesterday the subjoined paragraph: — “Oh, yes!
Oh, we perceive! Oh, no doubt! Oh, my! Oh, goodness! Oh, tempora! Oh, Moses!” Why, the
fellow is all O! That accounts for his reasoning in a circle, and explains why there is neither beginning nor end to him, nor to
anything that he says. We really do not believe the vagabond can write a word that hasn’t an O in it. Wonder if this O-ing is a
habit of his? By-the-by, he came away from Down-East in a great hurry. Wonder if he O’s as much there as he does here?
“O! it is pitiful? [[!]]”’

The indignation of Mr. Bullet-head at these scandalous insinuations, I shall not attempt to describe. On the
eel-skinning principle, however, he did not seem to be so much incensed at the attack upon his integrity as one might have imagined. It
was the sneer at his style that drove him to desperation. What! — he, Touch-and-go Bullet-head! — not able to
write a word without an O in it! He would soon let the jackanapes see that he was mistaken. Yes! he would let him see how much he
was mistaken, the puppy! He, Touch-and-go Bullet-head, of Frogpondium, would let Mr. John Smith perceive that he, Bullet-head, could
indite, if it so pleased him, a whole paragraph — ay! a whole article — in which that contemptible vowel should not
once — not even once — make its appearance. But no; — that would be yielding a point to the said John
Smith. He, Bullet-head, would make no alteration in his style, to suit the caprices of any Mr. Smith in Christendom.
Perish so vile a thought! The O forever! He would persist in the O. He would be as O-wy as O-wy could be.

Burning with the chivalry of this determination, the great Touch-and-go, in the next ‘Tea-pot,’ came out
merely with this simple but resolute paragraph, in reference to this unhappy affair:

‘The editor of the “Tea-pot” has the honor of advising the editor of “The Gazette”
that he, (the “Tea-pot,”) will take an opportunity, in to-morrow morning’s paper, of convincing him, (the
“Gazette,”) that he, (the “Tea-pot,”) both can and will be his own master as regards style: — he,
(the “Tea-pot,”) intending to show him, (the “Gazette,”) the supreme, and indeed the withering contempt with
which the criticism of him, (the “Gazette,”) inspires the independent bosom of him, (the “Tea-pot,”) by
composing for the especial gratification (?) of him, (the “Gazette,”) a leading article, of some extent, in which the
beautiful vowel — the emblem of Eternity — yet so offensive to the hyper-exquisite delicacy of him, (the
“Gazette,”) shall most certainly not be avoided by his (the “Gazette’s”) most obedient, humble
servant, the “Tea-pot.” “So much for Buckingham!”’

In fulfilment of the awful threat thus darkly intimated rather than decidedly enunciated, the great Bullet-head,
turning a deaf ear to all entreaties for ‘copy,’ and simply requesting his foreman to ‘go to the
d——l,’ when he (the foreman) assured him (the ‘Tea-pot’) that it was high time to ‘go to
press:’ turning a deaf ear to everything, I say, the great Bullet-head sat up until day-break, consuming the midnight oil, and
absorbed in the composition of the really unparalleled paragraph, which follows:

‘So ho, John! how now? Told you so, you know. Don’t crow, another time, before you’re out of the
woods! Does your mother know you’re out? Oh, no, no! — so go home at once, now, John, to your odious old woods of
Concord! Go home to your woods, old owl, — go! You wont? Oh, poh, poh, John, don’t do so! You’ve got to go, you
know! So go at once, and don’t go slow; for nobody owns you here, you know. Oh, John, John, if you don’t go
you’re no homo — no! You’re only a fowl, an owl; a cow, a sow; a doll, a [column 2:] Poll; a poor, old,
good-for-nothing-to-nobody, log, dog, hog, or frog, come out of a Concord bog. Cool, N ow —
cool! Do be cool, you fool! None of your crowing, old cock! Don’t frown so — don’t! Don’t hollo, nor
howl, nor growl, nor bow-wow-wow! Good Lord, John, how you do look! Told you so, you know — but stop rolling your goose of
an old poll about so, and go and drown your sorrows in a bowl!’

Exhausted, very naturally, by so stupendous an effort, the great Touch-and-go could attend to nothing farther that
night. Firmly, composedly, yet with an air of conscious power, he handed his MS. to the devil in waiting, and then, walking leisurely
home, retired, with ineffable dignity, to bed.

Meantime the devil to whom the copy was entrusted, ran up stairs to his ‘case,’ in an unutterable hurry,
and forthwith made a commencement at’setting’ the MS. ‘up.’

In the first place, of course, — as the opening word was’so’ — he made a plunge into the
capital S hole and came out in triumph with a capital S. Elated by this success, he immediately threw himself upon the little-o
box with a blind-fold impetuosity — but who shall describe his horror when his fingers came up without the anticipated letter in
their clutch? who shall paint his astonishment and rage at perceiving, as he rubbed his knuckles, that he had been only thumping them,
to no purpose, against the bottom of an empty box. Not a single little-o was in the little-o hole; and, glancing
fearfully at the capital-O partition, he found that, to his extreme terror, in a precisely similar predicament. Awe-stricken, his
first impulse was to rush to the foreman.

‘Sir!’ said he, gasping for breath, ‘I can’t never set up nothing without no
o’s.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ growled the foreman, who was in a very ill humor at being kept up so
late.

‘Why, sir, there beant an o in the office, neither a big un nor a little un!’

‘What — what the d—l has become of all that were in the case?’

‘I don’t know, sir,’ said the boy, ‘but one of them ere G’zette devils is bin
prowling bout here all night, and I spect he’s gone and cabbaged em every one.’

‘Dod rot him! I haven’t a doubt of it,’ replied the foreman, getting purple with rage —
[[‘]]but I tell you what you do, Bob, that’s a good boy — you go over the first chance you get and hook every one of
their i’s and (d—n them!) their izzards.’

‘Jist so,’ replied Bob, with a wink and a frown — ‘I’ll be into em,
I’ll let em know a thing or two; but in de meantime, that ere paragrab? Mus go in to-night, you know — else
there’ll be the d—l to pay, and —’

‘And not a bit of pitch hot,’ interrupted the foreman, with a deep sigh and an emphasis on the
‘bit.’ ‘Is it a very long paragraph, Bob?’

‘Shouldn’t call it a wery long paragrab,’ said Bob.

‘Ah, well, then! do the best you can with it! we must get to press,’ said the foreman, who was over
head and ears in work; [[‘]]just stick in some other letter for o, nobody’s going to read the fellow’s trash,
any how.’

‘Wery well,’ replied Bob, [[‘]]here goes it!’ and off he hurried to his case; muttering
as he went — ‘Considdeble vell, them ere expressions, perticcler for a man as doesn’t swar. So I’s to gouge out
all their eyes, eh? and d——n all their gizzards! Vell! this here’s the chap as is jist able for to do
it.’ The fact is, that although Bob was but twelve years old and four feet high, he was equal to any amount of fight, in a small
way.

The exigency here described is by no means of rare occurrence in printing-offices; and I cannot tell how to account for
it, but the fact is indisputable, that when the exigency does occur, it almost always happens that x is adopted as a
substitute for the letter deficient. The true reason, perhaps, is that x is rather the most superabundant letter in the cases, or
at least was so in the old times —— long enough to render the substitution in question an habitual thing with
printers. As for Bob, he would have considered it heretical to employ any other character, in a case of this kind, than the x to
which he had been accustomed.

‘I shell have to x this ere paragrab,’ said he to himself, as he read it over in
astonishment, ‘but it’s jest about the awfulest o-wy paragrab I ever did see:’ so x it he did,
unflinchingly, and to press it went x-ed.

Next morning, the population of Nopolis were taken all aback by reading, in ‘The Tea-pot,’ the following
extraordinary leader:

The uproar occasioned by this mystical and cabalistical article, is not to be conceived. The first definite idea
entertained by the populace was, that some diabolical treason lay concealed in the hieroglyphics; and there was a general rush to
Bullet-head’s residence, for the purpose of riding him on a rail; but that gentleman was nowhere to be found. He had vanished, no
one could tell how; and not even the ghost of him has ever been seen since.

Unable to discover its legitimate object, the popular fury at length subsided; leaving behind it, by way of sediment,
quite a medley of opinion about this unhappy affair.

One gentleman thought the whole an X-ellent joke.

Another said that, indeed, Bullet-head had shown much X-uberance of fancy.

‘[[sic]] A third admitted him X-entric, but no more.

A fourth could only suppose it the Yankee’s design to X-press, in a general way, his X-asperation.

‘Say, rather, to set an X-ample to posterity,’ suggested a fifth.

That Bullet-head had been driven to an X-tremity, was clear to all; and in fact, since that editor could not be
found, there was some talk about lynching the other one.

The more common conclusion, however, was that the affair was, simply, X-traordinary and in-X-plicable. Even the town
mathematician confessed that he could make nothing of so dark a problem. X, everybody knew, was an unknown quantity; but in this case
(as he properly observed), there was an unknown quantity of X.

The opinion of Bob, the devil (who kept [column 3:] dark ‘[[sic]] about his having ‘X-ed the
paragrab’), did not meet with so much attention as I think it deserved, although it was very openly and very fearlessly expressed.
He said that, for his part, he had no doubt about the matter at all, that it was a clear case, that ‘Mr. Bullet-head never
vould be persvaded fur to drink like other folks, but vas con tinually a-svigging o’ that ere blessed XXX ale,
and, as a naiteral consekvence, it jist puffed him up savage, and made him X (cross) in the X-treme.’